


To Clear the Air

by fraufi666



Category: Political RPF - Australian 20th-21st c.
Genre: Affairs, Authority Figures, Blackmail, Drabble, Drama, Extramarital Affairs, Light BDSM, M/M, Politics, Press and Tabloids
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-29
Updated: 2019-11-29
Packaged: 2021-02-26 01:21:05
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,321
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21605206
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fraufi666/pseuds/fraufi666
Summary: Barnaby Joyce is left unhappy and humiliated after finding out that the Prime Minister had publicly denounced his affair with a fellow staffer. He decides to pay a visit on Malcolm Turnbull, hoping to give him a taste of his own medicine. But will he be the one to experience the bitter taste of defeat…or a sinful lust?
Relationships: Malcolm Turnbull/Barnaby Joyce
Comments: 2
Kudos: 3





	To Clear the Air

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: This story is an AU. Although I have used real people and political figures this is entirely a work of fiction. All romantic encounters, events and insinuations are from my imagination. I mean no disrespect to any of the people depicted. I am also in no way politically biased. 
> 
> The public denouncement of Joyce’s affair with a staffer is real, however and was used as inspiration for this fic. You can read about it here if you are interested: https://www.theguardian.com/australia-news/2018/dec/01/he-threw-me-under-the-bus-joyce-blames-turnbull-for-liberal-party-problems

He didn’t care how angry he looked. That man had to pay. 

The Prime Minister waltzed through the corridors of Parliament, smiling at the thousand cameras and microphones that pursued him. Hiding underneath his trademark wide-brimmed hat, Joyce’s eyes were glaring at Turnbull as if a crocodile lurking beneath the depths, waiting to leap at his prey. But even though every inch of his being wanted to grab him and give him the socking he deserved, Joyce controlled himself. Punching the most powerful man in Australia would not be a good look, considering the damage the Prime Minister had already done to him. He would have to speak to him in private. 

Ten minutes later, Turnbull was finally left alone in his office to do some work. He gazed in boredom at the mountain of reports his ministers had left him. Why couldn’t he just have some space? Just as he was about to lift his pen, he heard a loud knock on the door. 

“Who is it?” Turnbull called out.

“You bloody well know who this is.” Came the sharp reply. It had to be the deputy. Turnbull rolled his eyes. He knew this was bound to happen. 

“Come in.”

Without a moment’s hesitation, Joyce burst into the room. With his face as red as a tomato, his body shaking violently in anger, Turnbull couldn’t help but to let out a slight chuckle. How he loved having such a strong effect on people. It was all a part of the job of being prime minister. With him in power, there had never been a better time to be Australian.

Joyce’s eyes, bright in fury were instantly latched onto the Prime Minister’s. There was so much he had wanted to say, so many questions, threats and insults he had wanted to hurl that it was all too fast for his mouth to act. Instead, he was left spitting out one strangled word.

_Why?_

Turnbull smirked. “You knew this would happen, Barnaby.” He peered at him disapprovingly like a teacher scolding a student for misbehaving. “You knew the consequences your actions would lead to, and yet…you couldn’t help yourself.” To his dismay, Joyce could have sworn that the Prime Minister’s eyes had swept towards an unspeakable place. “He’s got a mind of his own, I know. But as Deputy Prime Minister, I’d expect you to have a little bit more self control.”

The deputy had lunged straight at the older man, pinning him down to his chair. “You may be Prime Minister, but get off your high horse and stop making the rest of our lives miserable.” His confidence had come back, but his tone, as threatening as he had wanted to sound, came as merely a whine. 

Turnbull merely smiled, and Joyce could feel the force of a hand pushing the back of his head. Noses almost touching, Joyce began to feel uncomfortable. There was a sensation he was feeling, but he wasn’t sure if it was one he was meant to be feeling right that moment…and right with a man… _this_ man. 

“Don’t forget…you brought this on yourself, Barnaby.” Turnbull whispered back, the smile unwavering. 

Joyce writhed in Turnbull’s grasp. With a flourish, the Prime Minister undid his belt and gripped it tightly in his hand. “Turn around.” He ordered. 

“Never!” choked Joyce, his face now a distinct shade of beetroot. “I will not follow your ways of sin! Living in the city may have corrupted you. Capitalism may have corrupted you, but I am a country boy!” 

Turnbull peered down from his spectacles. “Is that so? Well I heard country boys like it rough.” Just as Joyce turned around to leave, his superior pushed him, belly-down against the table. He smirked at the man’s plump buttocks. 

A sharp tinge of pain pierced his backside and Joyce howled in agony. He could not believe it: the Prime Minister had first had the nerve to shame him about his affair, and yet now is whipping him against the table. He tried to move away, but he was paralysed. 

He figured it was due to fear, but noticed a bulge beginning to develop in his pants. _No_. He thought in disbelief, _Not here! Not now!_ He prayed furiously that Turnbull had not noticed his erection, but it was far too late. He felt a hand tighten against his crotch. 

Turnbull leaned closely to him, his grey-blue eyes twinkling. Oh how he hated him, even more than ever before. But, at the same time, he couldn’t stop himself from feeling pleasure. The silver-haired devil was bewitching him, just like what he had learnt all those years ago in Sunday school. 

“You won’t get away with this, I’ll tell everyone about your dirty secret.” Joyce said in a strangled whisper.

He heard a chuckle behind him and his face fell. There was no outwitting him and he knew it even before Turnbull opened his mouth. “And who are they going to believe? A disgraced deputy, or the soon to be longest serving Prime Minister of the 21st Century?”* A hand began to massage his cock as it threatened to burst through the material. “And, if I am not mistaken, it is _you_ who is enjoying our little encounter.” 

Their lips crashed in an angry kiss, tongues battling to dominate and win. The air grew hot with power. Even in the heat of passion, this was political. Yet this was certainly not going to be discussed any time soon during a press conference. Turnbull could feel the other man’s lips tremble and he placed a hand against the beetroot-coloured face as if to reassure him. The ferocious, crocodile eyes continue to glare at him, yet all there was in them was fear. Fear mixed with pleasure. Poor Barnaby did not know how to feel. 

“Don’t worry, Barnaby. This will be our little secret. Now, you run along and tell the press that we sorted things out.” He finally had released his grasp, and was beginning to do up his belt before fixing his tie. In only a few seconds, the Prime Minister looked composed as he should for a press briefing. 

“O-okay.” Joyce squeaked and awkwardly stumbled towards the door. He was so glad to finally escape, but first he needed to do something about that erection. Bashfully, he put his jacket on, tugging it downwards to try and conceal his dirty secret from prying eyes. _Later._

“Oh, and you forgot this.” the Prime Minister called out. He threw Joyce’s hat towards him, like a frisby. With clumsy hands, Joyce caught it, yet his sweaty palms had stained the brim. God he hated him. 

In an hour’s time, Turnbull was standing before the press, beaming widely. “Everything is hunky dory with the Coalition.” He said smoothly “I can assure you relations are very strong.... There are no issues between the Liberal and National parties at all.”

Sprawled on a couch, clutching a can of VB and sweating in his undershirt, Joyce decided to take the rest of the day off. After today’s antics, he had no energy for politics. But as he was about to turn off the TV, he could have sworn he saw the Prime Minister wink at the camera. Of course he knew he was watching. Below, he felt his nether regions swell. 

Oh how he hated the man. He vowed to stay out of his way from now on, yet somehow found himself picking up his phone and going quickly through his contacts. He had to do one more thing and breathed a sigh of relief as the other end of the line began to pick up. 

“We need to clear the air.”

He could hear the other man smile, and although his voice sounded kind, there was a hint of malice. “Of course. I’m at your disposal, Barnaby.” 

“...Just as long as I am still Prime Minister.” 

**Author's Note:**

> *Footnotes for explanations: 
> 
> “The soon to be longest serving Prime Minister of the 21st Century”: Although Turnbull would have enjoyed being the holder of this title; this did not come to pass. Rather, that position is still maintained by John Howard, who was in office for 11 years and 267 days. When writing this story had commenced, Turnbull was still Prime Minister of Australia. Yet, by the time it was completed he had been replaced by Scott Morrison. This is both due to the laziness of the author who took ages to finish this, and the revolving door of Prime Ministers, which is rife in Australia.


End file.
